What Is a Marriage?
by Mornen
Summary: In which no one wants to teach Turin about the facts of life.
1. Chapter 1

'Beleg?'

That was a normal enough question, Beleg thought, running his fingers slowly over the edge of a dulled knife. Many of the questions Túrin asked him were simply that. 'Beleg?' It usually meant, 'Where are you, Beleg?', 'Are you sure that's right, Beleg?', 'Are you going to feed me, Beleg?', 'What are you thinking, Beleg?', 'Are you utterly insane and mad? You cannot expect me to do such a thing. Can you, Beleg?', or some other dreadfully uncomplicated variation along those lines. This time it probably meant 'Where are you, Beleg?' since the poor, dear little mortal was trudging about painfully dutifully peering up with hopeful eyes into the branches of every tree.

'Over here, Túrin,' he called from the shrubbery where he had seated himself two hours back, muttering half-abominations at the clouds, although they were supposed to be directed at Mablung. Mablung, however, had not been there, which could be considered a good thing.

A good deal of leaf-rustling and twig-snapping later, Túrin's head popped through the bushes surrounding the Elf. 'Beleg?'

'Yes, my good man?' Beleg patted the green moss beside him, slipping the knife away as the young teen settled beside him.

Turin leaned back against the trunk of the oak tree they sat beneath and gazed sullenly at the sky. 'Beleg?'

'Mmm?'

Pursing his lips for a moment, Túrin shut his eyes. 'What's a marriage?'

Beleg slipped the knife from its sheath once more and sliced a few innocent fallen leaves as he considered the question. 'Well,' he said finally. 'It's when two people love each other very much and want to spend the rest of their lives together.' He pressed the tip of the blade hard against his finger. 'This ought to be sharpened. What if we see if you can?'

He turned to Túrin who was still pressed against the tree, a frown now working its way across his sharp face.

'Ah.' He drew his knees up and hugged them tightly, resting his chin on them, not answering the question.

'Eh, Túrin?' Beleg asked again, nudging his arm lightly.

'Are we married?' Túrin asked the question with no warning, not even looking at him.

'No,' Beleg said, taking half a second to answer him; it took him another five to realize what the boy had just said. 'I beg your pardon?'

Túrin dropped his gaze, looking down at his hands, which twisted about each other on his lap. 'Well, I love you very much, and I want to stay with you forever, and you love me very much and...' he did not finish the sentence.

'I want to stay with you forever?'

The boy looked up, half afraid. 'Are we married?'

'Well…' Beleg looked at the clouds that he had been insulting not long ago for an answer that he did not get (and probably did not deserve) and sighed. 'Túrin,' he said slowly balancing the words, patting the boy's knee. 'I think you might want to talk to Thingol about that.'


	2. Chapter 2

Thingol choked on his wine. He then dabbed his lips, set the cup down graciously, leaned back in his seat (trying to hide the red stain on his grey mantle), and pretended that all of that had not just happened. Given the stares of the court, he deemed that that approach was not working very well. 'Pardon me?' he said firmly.

'What is a marriage?' Turín mumbled to the floor, eyes low.

Thingol gave a slight sigh and began automatically. 'A marriage is when two people love each other very much and…'

'Begging your pardon, my king,' Beleg said suddenly. 'He wanted to know what a _marriage_ was.' Bowing a bit, he rubbed the blushing boy's back.

'Ah.' Thingol drummed his fingers against his knee, thinking, and shot a quick glance at Melian, who was staring thoughtfully into space. He coughed. 'I do believe that…' He stopped and looked at Melian again. 'A _marriage_ is when a man and a woman love each other so very much that they want to live together forever and have children.' He gave Túrin a slight smile. 'As your parents did.'

'My parents did not live with each other forever,' Túrin answered solemnly.

'But they wanted too,' said Melian gently from where she sat.

'My father…' Túrin began, but he did not finish. Raising his head, he gave a slight nod. 'And then…then…' he stammered, looking from Thingol to Melian then back at Beleg and at the others about the court. He shut his mouth tightly.

'I think,' said Beleg quickly, half-hoping to change the subject, half-hoping to avoid being asked the question once he was alone with Túrin again. 'What he is _trying_ to ask is _how_ parents have children.'

Thingol raised his eyebrows. 'Do you not know, son of Húrin?'

'No, my lord,' Túrin answered, standing a little straighter.

'Ah.' The king paused for a moment, his eyes roaming the court. 'Ah. Perhaps then it would be best for Beleg to explain that to you somewhere more _private_.' He picked his cup up once more.

Surprised, Beleg looked up. 'But, my king, he is your foster son,' he said, 'surely you would wish the privilege of…'

'And you,' Thingol interposed, 'are his tutor.' He raised the cup to the archer and took a long sip.

'In the art of war…not love,' Beleg reminded him with a rather serious tilt of the head.

'Ah, but you have thought him love quite well so far,' Thingol asserted. 'I would not have you lose faith in yourself now.'

'But my king…'

'That will be all. You are now dismissed.' Thingol folded his hands determinedly.

'Yes, my king.' Beleg bowed once more and took Túrin by the shoulder as he started from the palace. 'Come along now,' he said, a half-cruel smile forming on his lips. 'We have a lesson to learn.'

'Where are we going?' Túrin asked with great interest, looking up from where he bobbed by the archer's side.

Beleg smirked. 'To find Mablung.'


	3. Chapter 3

'Well, it's rather…' Mablung coughed and looked downwards. He gave Beleg's shoes an irritated glare and rubbed his hand against the hilt of his sword.

'Go on,' Beleg coaxed, edging the half-hopeful, half-anxious teen towards the other Elf.

'It's done by…' He ran his left hand through his hair and then smoothed it down again. 'It's….'

Túrin widened his eyes, waiting for the answer.

Mablung swallowed hard. 'It's physical.'

'Gracious, Mablung, you did not have to be so graphic,' Beleg chided as he bit back his grin.

Mablung raised his upper lip in a slight sneer and narrowed his eyes at his comrade. 'I did not want to _alarm_ him.'

Beleg brushed his hair haughtily behind his ear. 'I fear, my friend, that you may have done worse.'

Seething, Mablung raised his eyebrows. 'And how exactly could I have done _that_? Pray tell me, my good fellow.'

'Beleg, Mablung,' Túrin began softly, glancing worriedly at the pair from where he stood between them. 'It's all right; I don't have…'

'You have now made him _fear_ marriage,' Beleg cut in, pointing an accusing finger at the captain. 'From henceforward, the poor boy will be afraid of the very thought of marrying. He will think that there is something wrong with it, that there is something wrong with him, perhaps, for thinking about it…'

'What will he have to _think_ about it?' Mablung interrupted with a crinkle of his nose. 'I did not tell him anything to imagine.'

'He'll begin to guess, which is worse.' Beleg moved in on Mablung, circling him stealthily; his feet made no sound and left no mark on the wet green moss. 'Besides which, you did tell him something, dear chap. You told him that it was physical. From here out, he'll think that it is something dread and foul that scathes all who touch upon it and mars their very bodies as it takes…'

'But he sees plenty of happy families here,' Mablung retorted even as he took a step back, bumping up against a tree that really had no right in the world to be there. 'That should…'

Beleg, however, ignored him. 'Alas!' he cried, gracefully pushing Túrin away from his arm, which the mortal had been tugging on furiously, and pressing his hand to Mablung's throat in one delicious swoop that could have rendered a falcon jealous. '_Alas_,' he lowered his voice to a hiss, his eyes narrowed so that only a glint of them shown out from beneath his lashes. 'He only knows the results and not the act; it matters not that the results are blithe, for it is the means, not the ends, that justifies a course of action.' He pressed his nose to Mablung's. 'Do you understand?'

With another arch of his dark brows, Mablung pushed the archer away from him and pressed him against an adjacent tree, his strong hand firm against his chest. 'Beleg Cúthalion,' he said slowly, with obvious disapproval. 'Have you been into the Dorwinion again?'


	4. Chapter 4

'Of course I haven't.' Beleg sniffed the air importantly and folded his arms tightly over his chest. 'The Dorwinion and I hardly get along.'

Mablung shook his head. 'Which is exactly what I am worried about.'

With a scowl, Beleg surveyed him. 'What do you mean by that, my good man?'

'Exactly what you think.' Mablung distanced himself from the tree he had been (for all scandalous purposes) pinned against. 'It is very noticeable that you and your drink "do not get along" on most occasions.' The corner of his mouth rose in an unjustifiable smirk.

'Indeed?' Beleg looked Mablung up and down with the eye of a predator. 'I suppose that that is some elegant way of insulting me in secret?' He grabbed Túrin by the arm as the boy started to (very quietly) slip away. 'Did he just insult me, Túrin?'

'I…' Túrin took a good look at the two deadly Elves. '…I have no idea.'

'Túrin here is not standing up for me, is he?' Beleg asked Túrin with a perfectly innocent tap on the cheek (which did not hurt at all).

'I…' Túrin mumbled something terribly and utterly imperceptible to the ground and then closed his lips. He looked as if he was quite determined not to speak for (at the very least) a week.

'Only because he knows that "standing up for you" would be a lie,' Mablung said. He had a most victorious smile on his face at that point. Beleg half-felt like smacking it off.

'Is that so?'

'It is so.'

Beleg turned again to Túrin who was still standing uncomfortably by his side, staring up at the clouds and humming the ancient melody of a tragic lay. Beleg smiled dangerously. 'That is _not _so.' He gave a nod that sent his hair flying in a most undignified mess over his face. 'For I can hold more liquor than the two of you combined.'

'Challenge. Accepted.' Mablung's eyes shone with an almost unhealthy joy.

'Good. Shall we find some wine then?'

'We shall.' Mablung strode off quickly towards the palace.

Beleg followed him. 'Come along, Túrin,' he said, tugging on his arm. 'We are off to find the answer to a problem that has bothered me since long before the sun rose.'

'…This morning?' Túrin said, breaking his resolve to not speak for a month (but since he had made that resolve on almost every day he had walked the earth, there was not really that much of a point in mentioning it.)

'No, since a very long time ago. Before the sun rose for the first time,' Beleg said without turning around.

'So… you have always wanted to know if you could hold more alcohol than Mablung and I?'

'No, more alcohol than Mablung. I just threw you in for good measure.'

'Ah.' Túrin hopped over a tree root as he was pulled along in search of strong wine and a reckless afternoon. 'But what has that got to do with marriage?'


End file.
